"You sell your fish too cheap, Malcolm."

"The deil's i' the tyke," rejoined Malcolm, and, seized at last
by a sense of the ludicrousness of the whole affair, burst
out laughing, and turned for the High Street. .

"Na, na, laddie; the deil's no awa' in sic a hurry: he bed (remained),"
said a voice behind him.

Malcolm turned again and lifted his bonnet. It was Miss Horn, who
had come up from the Seaton.

"Did ye see yon, mem?" he asked.

"Ay, weel that, as I cam up the brae. Dinna stan' there, laddie.
The jaud 'll be watchin' ye like a cat watchin' a mouse. I ken her!
She's a cat wuman, an' I canna bide her. She's no mowse (safe to
touch). She's in secrets mair nor guid, I s' wad (wager). Come awa'
wi' me; I want a bit fish. I can ill eat an' her lyin' deid I' the
hoose--it winna gang ower; but I maun get some strength pitten
intil me afore the berial. It's a God's mercy I wasna made wi'
feelin's, or what wad hae come o' me! Whaur's the gude o' greetin?
It's no worth the saut i' the watter o' 't, Ma'colm. It's an ill
wardle, an micht be a bonny ane--gien't warna for ill men."

"'Deed, mem! I'm thinkin' mair aboot ill women, at this prasent,"
said Malcolm. "Maybe there's no sic a thing, but yon's unco like ane.
As bonny a sawmon troot 's ever ye saw, mem! It's a' I'm cawpable
o' to haud ohn cursed that foul tyke o' hers."